Hypothetically Speaking
by softer
Summary: <html><head></head>Kate Beckett does not get jealous. One-shot.</html>


_I got my cap and gown today, not to mention graduation announcements. _  
><em>Our class motto is a Bob Marley quote. This is my real life. <em>  
><em>Then, I got Tropical Smoothie.<br>__THEN there was a rainbow._

_I thought I'd make a perfect day even better by posting this little one-shot.  
><strong>thank you to Ariel119 for pointing out a few technical errors. <strong>_

_I'm not going to bore you with apologies, those of you waiting on the third installment of "To Love"._  
><em>For those of you who have no idea what I'm talking about, please continue and enjoy this one shot. <em>

_(note: adult content ahead. It's not explicit, but the rating is earned, methinks.)_

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><p><strong>Hypothetically Speaking<strong>

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><p>It was one of those rare moments when the urge to write and the convenience to write overlap- it didn't happen often that inspiration hit him and he happened to be near his computer.<p>

In fact, inspiration always tended to strike him at the worst and most inconvenient of times:

Driving down the interstate.  
>In the middle of a SWAT raid.<br>During his daughter's violin solo.  
>As Kate's mouth meets his-<p>

He stopped that thought train right in his tracks.

_Concentrate. _

His fingers flew over the keys, struggling to keep up with his mind as it pumped out word after word, thought after thought. He was impressed with himself when he rarely missed keys- a sloppy typist on his better days, but his fingers worked just as his brain seems to be- precisely and with incredible speed.

He didn't dare glance away from the screen, afraid that the slightest distraction would throw off his flow. He knew she was in the room, and he knew how easily he would forget writing with her so close.

The lights in the living room dimmed but he didn't notice, too intent on walking Nikki into a shabby hotel not unlike the crime scene he and Beckett worked earlier that week.

All of a sudden, the lid of his laptop started slowly falling, and as it shut, her foot came into view, pushing it closed. He barely got his fingers out in time.

His gaze followed her foot to her leg, a mile long and very bare until her thigh, when gray Sofee shorts take over. He glanced over her chest, before his eyes finally ascend to her face, where she wore a mischievous smirk and an evil sort of glint in her eye to match.

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and, curiosity characteristically winning out, he pushed the laptop from his legs onto the coffee table, leaning back in the oversized, wide-back chair, his arms falling to either of the cushioned seats.

She rose from her place on the adjacent couch, slowly, her long limbs unfolding with grace as she made her way towards him. He watched with wide eyes as she climbed onto the large chair, a knee on either side of him, effectively straddling him.

He opened his mouth to speak but he couldn't get a word out, her fingers sliding into his hair, settling in familiar paths before clenching, roughly, yanking his head back, exposing his neck.

Her mouth set in a furious attack, licking and biting alternately, pinching the sensitive skin before soothing it over with her tongue, sucking, gently. She placed frenzied kisses on his lips, swallowing his gasp when her fingers tightened around strands of hair.

He found his hands traveling the incredibly bare length of her legs, her bottom, then pushing up her camisole. She refused to move her arms so he abandoned that effort, leaving the exposed skin of her back to journey up her uncovered shoulders and arms, stopping at her wrists to pull her gently away.

She backed off from her oral assault, but left her hands in his hair, holding him back so he looked up to her. There was a brief moment of silence as they both caught their breath.

"Not that that wasn't _incredibly _hot," his large hands fell back to her waist, "But where did _that _come from?"

It was a moment as rare as her need to have him or mark him: it was a moment of unadulterated honesty.

"Amelia Falcon," she murmured. Understanding dawned over Rick, soon enough that when she went once again for him, he stopped her with a hand to her shoulder. Eventually, as he held her gaze with his own, that hand made it up to her cheek.

"Kate Beckett does _not _get jealous," he informed her, matter of fact-ly. She shifted, uncomfortable with the accusation but unable to deny it.

"No," she drew out the syllable, "But if she _did, _you can't say it wouldn't be warranted," she tried to reason. "Hypothetically speaking," she added as an afterthought for good measure. The smile pulled once again at the corner of his mouth.

"Hypothetically, of course," he murmured back, and then more seriously: "Amelia Falcon is nobody," he promised her more with his eyes than his words. She could always trust those blue eyes.

"Well she was doing an awfully fine job of undressing you with her eyes for a nobody," Kate grumbled, bitterly. She took up interest in his hair, but he would have none of it.

"Hey," he used the thumb by her chin to shift her eyes back to his. "She's nobody. She's nothing." His fingers brushed stray stands of hair, pushing them behind her ear.

"It was just how she waltzed into the precinct like the owned the place. Looked at you like she owned you."

"Yeah well I think she got the message by the end of today," he told her, grinning.

"What do you mean?" she asked, brow furrowing slightly.

"Don't play coy, detective," the hand on her waist moved upward a sliver, taking the camisole with it. His fingers drew circles on her back. "If looks could kill, she'd have been dead by lunch."

"I was trying to do my job and she waltzes into the precinct like a goddamn groupie, fawning _all over _you. She was completely unprofessional!"

"So this is professional jealousy?" he asked her, arching an eyebrow. "Hypothetically," he tacked on, quickly. Her only response was a frenzied succession of kisses to his shoulder and a small growl.

A hand fell from his head to push his button-down out of the way, giving her full access to his collar as she made her way across his clavicle and to the hollow of his throat. He let out a small yelp, then a chuckle.

He ran a hand up her leg, gently, brushing against her shorts. She let out a frustrated sound, lifting her hips and ridding herself of them unceremoniously. He grinned against her mouth, helping her. Kate was getting infuriated at his slow movements, and when she finally managed to free her legs from the garment, her mouth crashed back into his.

Rick enjoyed sexy lingerie, what man didn't, but _my god, _he loved her in cotton.

She rested her weight on her knees on either side of him, and he took the opportunity to push up her camisole, pressing a kiss to her abdomen. He smiled against her skin when her fingers tightened in his hair, urging him to continue.

Still, Castle moved at a maddening pace. He took a moment to appreciate the new view above him before he realized that she had been making quick work of his shirt. His large hands encircled her wrists as they worked on unfastening the last of the buttons, stilling them.

There was that frustrated noise again, sounding from the back of her throat.

"Kate," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm more of a Tango sort of man." He pressed his lips to hers, firmly, releasing her hands and allowing them to drape once again around his neck, into his hair.

"Tell me I'm pretty," she murmured against his mouth when she broke away, breath heavy. Underneath her, she felt him sigh, almost relieved.

"God Kate," he held her against him by the nape of her neck, pressing lingering kisses at her pulse. "You're so beautiful."

"Tell me you love me," she breathed again, holding him to her neck, keeping him there.

"I love you," he mumbled into her hair, then, pulling away only long enough to catch her eye: "I love you." The arm he had snaked around her hips suddenly pulled her down so she was sitting on him, desperate for her to understand what she did to him.

Once again, she was growing antsy. She needed him. Ridding herself of her top in one fluid moment, she set to fix the fact that he was still wearing pants. She slid off his lap, settling on the floor in front of the chair and reaching for the button of his jeans.

Rick let out what could be best described as a giggle when she slid the blue fabric off his legs. She ran her nails over his exposed thighs and the sharp angles of his hips, lightly, making him giggle again. She didn't try to stop the smile that pulled at her lips. He was incredibly ticklish and she found it adorable.

She sank down on him, leaning backwards into the large hands splayed on her back, arching, her chest pushing forward in consequence. She ran her nails down the strong arms she trusted completely to hold her- to never drop her.

He relished the gasp that escaped her open mouth as her eyes slid shut and he slid into her. Nothing beat this moment. Hell, nothing came close to matching it.

They picked up a steady rhythm, falling and rising together, working them up to climax languidly. "Kate," her grip on his arms tightened, a small moan escaping her when he whispered her name.

"Yes," she gasped, answering his unasked question without so much as opening her eyes. "Yes," and then after a moment, as she felt the first wave wash over her, "yes, I love you, too." Her words did it for him, pushing him off the cliff she'd just fallen from.

It was only long moments after, when he pulled her relaxed body against his, her head finding that perfect spot where his neck met his shoulder, his lips finding her temple, chests moving in unison, that she spoke.

"You're going to have to wear a turtleneck tomorrow," she observed, as he felt her fingers tracing his neck. He groaned.

"That'll go over well," he feigned exasperation. He felt her smile. "You might need to wear one, too."

"I have makeup," she murmured, more thoughtfully than teasing, as if she were taking mental inventory of her cosmetics. She couldn't see, but she knew he was pouting.

"You know," he spoke after a moment, "it is a damn shame Katherine Beckett doesn't get jealous."

She lifted her head only slightly, covering his lips with one finger. "Hypothetically speaking," she reminded him.

"I would hate to see what _real _jealously would translate into." To this, though, she just nipped at his ear before settling back under his chin.

"No," she replied, her eyes fluttering shut when his fingers took to tracing nonsensical patterns on her back.

"Something tells me hate would not be one of the predominant emotions you would be experiencing."

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><p><strong>Constructive criticism is not only welcome but encouraged.<br>Thank you for taking your time :)**


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